Like the Spanish moss in the south; my strongest roots derive from there. A comforting smell, that takes you away to a time long forgotten. Billowing in the sands of the past, yet loving the present I am in. The roots of my tree are strong, and deep in the red clay soil that whispers to me now, and then.
They’ve survived storms, and cannon fire. My heart always wanders back to that space in Magnolia Gardens where I’d lay watching the clouds go by. Remembering the people who brought me there. The ones who loved me, disappointed me, and made me stronger. My roots continue to finger through, and discover the strength within me. The tree tree that survived flames, cannon fire, heart break, and loss. My roots run deep, but they are no longer me.
I’ve become the moss whispering in the wind, unafraid of movement.
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wow
Thank you so much for leaving a comment. I am so glad you liked this.
The day I’d posted this was the first time I’ve shared any of my writing unless required to in a class.
I’ve gotten such wonderful comments its truley humbling and also lets me know that yes I am good at this.